


Ways to be Loved

by Rednaelo



Series: Starspark [1]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: A Porny Adventure in Two Parts, Cute Erotica, First Time, M/M, Multiple Sex Positions, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Squirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-20
Updated: 2015-01-20
Packaged: 2018-03-08 10:33:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3206060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rednaelo/pseuds/Rednaelo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tailgate shares his first interfacing experience with his new lover.  Prequel fic to Everyone's Angel.  Short, sweet and squirty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ways to be Loved

**Author's Note:**

> Eheheh, I managed to crank this one out over the long weekend. I started with part 2 first and then did part one which is why this is a oneshot and not a two-chapter fic. Unbeta'd so pardon my dust. 
> 
> Enjoy, friends.
> 
> -Bec

Tailgate was honestly not expecting Cyclonus to sink to the floor.  He had huddled up on the berth with his knees tucked under his chin, becoming more and more aware of how his spark was throbbing so hard in his chest, he could feel the resonance of it in the tips of his fingers. His optics had been unseeing as he sorted through rapidly shuffling data, trying to prepare for this.  Cyclonus would be returning in just a little bit.  He would be climbing up onto the berth and putting the minibot in his shadow before descending upon him and opening his universe to delight he’d never tasted before.

Their first coupling as lovers….

It gave Tailgate shivers of pleasure and fear all at once.

So when Cyclonus entered the habsuite and the door shut – locked – behind him, the last thing Tailgate was expecting was for the mech to reach the end of the berth and then just…kneel.  There wasn’t much time to sit there and ponder it, though.  Tailgate was already leaning forward in his little crouch to look into Cyclonus’ eyes when the purple mech lifted a finger and crooked it, beckoning the minibot towards him. 

“Are we gonna…,” Tailgate hesitated, peeking over the edge of the berth.  “…On the floor?”

Cyclonus raised an optic ridge at him, the small quirk of a grin at the corner of his mouth helping alleviate some of Tailgate’s nervousness.  He reached out with small white hands and caught Cyclonus’ face, guiding him close as Tailgate’s mask and visor retracted. 

Their first kiss had been a while ago. But it didn’t matter how many times they had shared the taste of one another, Tailgate still felt the exhilarated shock of their kisses stroke along his entire sensory network. Cyclonus kissed him like Tailgate was something for him to sip, like he was trying to encounter every dimension, every taste and texture that was the minibot’s lips and tongue.  Tailgate would suckle on Cyclonus’ tongue and whimper when sharpened fangs scraped just gently against his lips.  He’d let his mouth open wide so Cyclonus could taste him as deeply as he liked. 

That tongue slipping between his lips, from day one, never failed to make his fans kick into high gear and his interface protocols surge to life. Third time they kissed, Tailgate started _leaking_ in Cyclonus’ lap. Tailgate remembered it as he kissed Cyclonus over the lip of the berth, squirming on his tummy and rubbing his thighs together in anticipation as building charge made him shiver.

“Sit here,” Cyclonus murmured against Tailgate’s lips as they withdrew.  He tapped the edge of the berth and Tailgate wiggled and shifted until his legs swung over the edge, knees framing either side of Cyclonus’ helm.

“Should I…um….”

“You should calm yourself,” Cyclonus advised him, though his hands gently stroked along the insides of Tailgate’s thighs.  Back and forth…back and forth, slowly.  Leaning in to kiss his knees, his hips, the juncture between pelvic plating and thigh.  Tailgate reached out quivering hands and stroked Cyclonus’ helm.  That sharp, angular face, the sharp protrusions of both horns felt so warm beneath his fingers. He whined when his valve gave an unexpected clench – a result of Cyclonus’ breath slipping hot beneath Tailgate’s plating, against his array – and lubricant leaked out of the seams.

“O-ohh,” the minibot sighed.  He leaned forward, wrapping both hands around Cyclonus’ horns as the jet gripped him firmly by the hips and kissed his interface panel.  “Ohh, Cyclonus…!” The panel snapped back so hard and fast it made Tailgate choke a little in surprise.  Heedless, Tailgate’s spike extended and he arched backwards, his hips jolting forward as he tried to achieve some sort of balance.  “Primus, it’s too much…!”  Which was awful, Tailgate thought, because they had barely even started!

He wasn’t even given an opportunity to collect himself.  Cyclonus pursed his lips right at the head of Tailgate’s spike and stretched them around to swallow him to the hilt.  Tailgate squealed.  His hips bucked up spasmodically, the over-sensitized nerves alighting in rapid pulses as he nudged against the softer part of Cyclonus’ oral pallet. And with a broken mewl he overloaded; one stroke of Cyconus’ tongue to the underside of the shaft was all it took.

Tailgate crashed onto his back as soon as Cyclonus pulled his lips away with a sloppy, suckling kiss.

“Oh, Primus, did you swallow that?” Tailgate moaned as he stared up at the ceiling with blurry optics.  His processor fed him data reports that told him that he was still overcharged but had waned from the critical point.  His fans were still at maximum output.  His spike gleamed wet and stiff, jutting up as if that overload hadn’t just happened and Tailgate hadn’t emptied what was probably ten gallons of transfluid into Cyclonus’ mouth. 

Okay, it probably wasn’t anywhere near ten gallons but, Primus, did Tailgate feel like it had been!  He reeled and felt the warm smoothness of Cyclonus’ tongue lapping at his valve. 

“Ohhh, stop,” Tailgate gasped, his hands reaching down to clutch Cyclonus’ horns, “you have to stop, it’s too much!”

And Cyclonus did stop, withdrawing carefully from Tailgate’s grip and his drooling, pulsating valve lips.  He stayed crouched between Tailgate’s legs and sucked transfluid from his bottom lip while his cooling fans roared and his optics glowed sanguine.  Tailgate watched him carefully as he pushed himself up again. 

“You…you’re ruthless!” the minibot peeped as he fell forward into Cyclonus’ arms.  “Oh, you’re relentless; what are you doing, you’re trying to kill me.”  Tailgate clung to him so tightly, his plating making clicks as it heated even further from being in contact with such warmth.  He vented hard, staring down between them to see where Cyclonus’ interface panel was open and he was dripping steadily into a small puddle between his knees.  Tailgate whimpered and swallowed hard.

“I apologize,” the purple mech whispered.  He cradled Tailgate as if his next move would break the minibot.

“It’s okay,” Tailgate huffed gently. “It’s okay, I wasn’t scared or hurt. I wasn’t expecting…that much.”

“I will be more careful.”  Cyclonus’ voice rumbled close to Tailgate’s audial.  A kiss followed the promise.  Tailgate pressed in close and kissed along Cyclonus’ neck.

“Know you will, dummy,” he mumbled. “Gimme a minute to reset, I’m glitching out.”  The minibot giggled a manically and threw his arms around Cyclonus’ shoulders while he straightened out all of his overeager systems.  He vented in slow cycles and focused on the hot throb that still tumbled and turned over between his legs. He wanted more.  He wanted everything that he could take.  Another sudden giggle.  Well, at least he was beginning to understand his limits.

“Will it always be this way?” he asked Cyclonus, tracing a fingertip against his lover’s spinal strut.  “Please tell me I’ll get used to this feeling.”

Cyclonus grasped Tailgate’s shoulders with the gentle firmness that the minibot was beginning to associate with being loved.  He put some distance between them simply for the purpose of staring into those sweet, blue optics.

“We will learn in time,” he answered sincerely.  “Whatever you need, I will provide it.”

“What if what I need is to get fragged through the berth every night?” Tailgate joked, giving a breathless chuckle.

“Then I will provide,” Cyclonus promised, his vocalizer dipping into deeper registers.  Tailgate moaned eagerly into the kiss he was given.  It was deep and wet and tasted metallic and saccharine which he figured was the taste of his own fluids.  That reminder was enough to make another trickle leak down the inside of his thighs. 

He broke the kiss in the next instant and squeezed Cyclonus’ shoulders.

“Okay….  I want more now.”

Cyclonus smiled at him.  It was the most beautiful smile.

He straightened, rising to full height on his knees.  Tailgate floundered a little but ended up being hoisted upwards, strong hands lifting him up by his hips until he was seated on the berth once again.

“Push your hips forward,” Cyclonus coaxed him.  “I’m going to finger you.”

“O-oh.”  Tailgate wriggled a little where he sat and spread his legs so his valve was exposed.

“Size difference notwithstanding,” Cyclonus informed him, almost clinically as he reached a single digit forward and pushed it between Tailgate’s valve lips, “my spike is liable to cause you damage if your calipers don’t have an adjustment reference.”

“Mnnh,” Tailgate replied. “So, what, you stretch me out a little and—hh! E-everything works out when you ah…! F-frag me properly?”

“Precisely.”

Tailgate always figured that Cyclonus’ claws would be sharp and unbearable, especially against the thin, sensitive mesh of his valve and internal components.  But he was wrong.  One digit slipped gently in and out without any damage. Then two stretched him wide until he was panting gently.  A third made the minibot whine at every exhale and by that point his spike was drooling against his plating again, his faceplates flushed a hot fuchsia.

“Now,” Tailgate suddenly demanded as his hips jerked of their own accord. Cyclonus had found something inside of him which he had referred to as a ‘ceiling node’ and was giving it a steady massage with the tip of one finger and successfully turning Tailgate into a leaking mess.  “Now, now, please, I want to have all of you.”

Cyclonus drew his little lover off the berth, supporting him with strong, sticky hands beneath his aft.  Tailgate clung tight to Cyclonus’ neck, feeling very distinctly when he was lowered just enough for the head of Cyclonus’ burning-hot spike to kiss between the lips of his valve.

“Ohhh, Pits!” Tailgate whimpered.

“You can brace your pedes on the floor,” Cyclonus breathed gently in his audial, “or I can hold you.”

“Wh-what will make you frag me faster?” Tailgate answered without thinking, his spark lurching hard as his field pulsed with unbridled lust.  There was a fierce growl and Tailgate thrilled at it. Cyclonus drew Tailgate’s hips down as he rolled his own upwards.  Slowly…slowly….  But, oh, Primus, it was so much!

Cyclonus’ spike pressed into Tailgate’s valve and stretched him so wide.  Wider than just three of his lover’s digits.  But it was never too much.  It never hurt.  And that’s what made Tailgate’s processor reel all the more.  Little by little he was filled until he felt the halt, the meeting of mesh and metal, where the head of Cyclonus’ spike nudged against the inner valve of his gestation tank.

“Ohh,” Tailgate sighed out, his whole body shaking with tense energy and want.  “I’m so full…I’m so full, you’re all the way in….”  One hand slipped down between the two of them and Tailgate pinched his external node between two digits, rubbing firmly.  “Pleeease, Cyclonus, please,” he begged.

His lover mech took steady ventilations, lips kissing wherever he could reach and Tailgate let his optics shut, relaxing into the rain of those kisses and being carried by arms that would not let him falter.  Pleasure danced at the tips of his fingers.  Cyclonus began to roll his hips, his energy dipping greedily into Tailgate’s to drink of it deep.

The movement ignited the sensitive nodes right at the rim of Tailgate’s valve and he cooed out in pleasure, rotating his hips just so as he pushed down into Cyclonus’ spike and up into his own fingers as they played with his nub.  All the sensation translated and came spilling out of his lips in an eager, drooling hymn.

“Primus, that feels…ohh, that feels like nothing ever has. It’s all you, all of you inside of me, feels so right, feels so good…! Ngh! You’re making me such a mess, I’m falling apart, I can’t stop, uhhn…. Ohh, my hips, they keep moving, I’m not doing that, my body, it’s—!  Ohh, oh, Cyclonus!”

Giant, ardent hands gripping hard at his aft; that enormous, wet spike shoved into his valve over and over, stretching him to his limits, setting every internal node on fire…. Tailgate left off rubbing his external node and held onto Cyclonus’ shoulders for dear life, whimpering and squealing into his neck as he bounced in his lover’s possessive grip.

Rapidly, the minibot felt his circuits beginning to reach that familiar threshold and he gripped and stroked restlessly all over Cyclonus’ chassis.

“I’m gonna lose it,” he wailed desperately.  “I-I-I’m…I’m—!!”

Every strut went rigid and his energy twisted in tight on itself, spiraling straight down between his legs to where his valve was clamped vise-tight around Cyclonus’ spike.  Tailgate produced nothing but static and broken cries as he overloaded, Cyclonus’ spike forced out with the sudden surge of pressure in his valve.  The purple mech strained visibly, clenching Tailgate tight in his arms as the minibot gushed hot streams of transfluid out of his valve.  They squirted out with each seize of Tailgate’s body, static and whimpering gradually fading back into audible cries of pleasure.

Cyclonus plunged right back in, soaked with Tailgate’s cum, and thrust only twice before he overloaded.  He pinned Tailgate to the berth and growled hot and hard against him.  Tailgate was shivering to the point that his moaning exhales were fragmented and brittle.  He scrabbled to hold onto Cyclonus and wait until his lover had finished.

“So good,” Tailgate shuddered.   “So good, ohh….  Ohh….”

Tailgate wasn’t quite sure when he would be able to move again.  Cyclonus withdrew and left Tailgate feeling stretched out and soaking, silvery transfluid running down the minibot’s thighs.  And as Cyclonus pulled Tailgate into his arms and – only a bit unsteadily – bundled them both onto the berth together, Tailgate felt like he was lovely.  Like he was the most beautiful bot to ever exist, right there, safe in Cyclonus’ arms, even covered in each other’s mess.

“You love me,” he mumbled against Cyclonus’ lips.

“I love you,” Cyclonus confirmed.  His energy washed out in a sudden flood of adoration, surrounding Tailgate’s spark with constant strokes of reverence, of tenderness.

Tailgate was radiant.

 

* * *

 

 

“You’re really beautiful,” Tailgate explained, even though Cyclonus hadn’t asked.  He hadn’t said a word of comment, actually, and was still and serene as he laid back on the berth with his legs spread and his interface panel bared.  Tailgate leaned against Cyclonus’ knee and flickered his focus from the composed arousal of Cyclonus’ face – watching Tailgate, in turn, with deepest eyes - and the more honest arousal of his array.  Cyclonus’ spike was spent, already depressurized into its housing, but his valve was slick, the swollen mesh shining silvery-violet in the dim starlight of the habsuite.  Tailgate watched, his heavy respirations hitching each time those lovely lips twitched and fluttered.

“Sh-should I…?”

“Take your time,” Cyclonus reminded him patiently.  One clawed servo reached to caress the minibot’s rosy-flushed cheek as he reassured Tailgate in a husky murmur.  “Don’t endeavor to meet any expectations.”

“Haha, right, cuz we both know I’m not meeting them anyway–” Tailgate was cut off, his lips mashed together in a comical pucker as Cyclonus pinched his cheeks in his hand.  There was no smile on the jet’s face but Tailgate caught the amused glint in those overload-hazy optics.

“The evidence of you exceeding any expectations is still leaking from your valve and dribbling down your thighs,” Cyclonus reminded the minibot.  Tailgate’s awareness was instantly drawn to the stickiness between his legs - the warm ache of his newly-stretched valve.  A shiver tumbled down his spinal strut.  Cyclonus released his captive cheeks.

“Guess so,” Tailgate whispered, hugging Cyclonus’ greave dearly to try and keep himself from collapsing into a heap of horny scrap metal.

“I’m saying that you may do as you like,” Cyclonus said.  “I will tell you if I want you to stop.”

Tailgate untangled himself from the purple mech’s leg and scooched forward a little, refocusing on the alluring glisten of his lover’s valve.  Like before, the minibot paused - enraptured - and sighed dreamily as he watched Cyclonus move and vent in soft, measured cycles.  Every movement was visible there, in the press of those vulnerable folds, wet and exuding heat that Tailgate could feel against his plating.  Cyclonus was never impatient.  He let Tailgate look as long as he wished and only caressed the minibot’s helm soothingly.

“Um…,” Tailgate began, pulling himself out of his adoring reverie, “can I just...do what you did?”

Cyclonus nodded.

“As you like,” he repeated.

Tailgate – still leaning against his lover’s leg like it was his anchor in the middle of unknown waters – reached out a trembling hand and smoothed his fingertips right down the middle of Cyclonus’ valve.  Cyclonus shuddered, optics sliding shut to relish the softness of Tailgate’s touch.  Then they opened again to watch the little bot with tender attentiveness.

Tailgate maintained a focus that could only be rivaled by scientists discovering a new element to classify and experiment with.  A few tiny digits spread the lips of Cyclonus’ valve as another finger traced and dipped into the sweltering depths of him.

“How does that feel?” Tailgate asked, looking up at Cyclonus’ face.

“Pleasant,” the purple mech rumbled.  “A little tentative.  Make your strokes firmer.”

“Okay….”

Tailgate relinquished his hold on Cyclonus’ leg and lowered himself between the bigger mech’s thighs.  Both hands involved, he adjusted and thumbed Cyclonus’ valve open, feeling the heat of him against parted, panting lips.  Tailgate watched the delicate internals clench, calipers squeezing as Tailgate vented against the exposed mesh.  Cyclonus shuddered, his knees bumping against Tailgate’s armor.

“This felt good,” the minibot muttered to himself as he rubbed firmly at the nub of Cyclonus’ external node.  The jet gave a sharp gasp; it crumbled into a shuddered sigh, his legs falling open even wider.

“Feels good to you too?” Tailgate checked, smiling when he looked up to find those carefully composed features falling away to unabashed pleasure.  Tailgate withdrew his touch again, licking at his sticky-slick fingers.  There was a little burst of unknown flavor but it wasn’t enough to sate the minibot’s sudden curiosity.  He ducked down and pressed close, the tip of his nose nudging against Cyclonus’ spread folds as Tailgate closed his optics and opened his mouth.  For a moment, he just cycled his vents, inhaling heat and damp, tasting the scent of something mineral, something foreign and full of depth.  Then all he had to do was tilt his chin up a little.

Kissing the lips between Cyclonus’ legs was a lot different from kissing the lips on his face.  Less like sharing sweets and more like stealing them for himself.  Sticky, juicy sweets with a cloying taste lingering on his tongue.  Tailgate lapped it up and Cyclonus’ whole body tensed and relaxed at odd intervals.  Against the edge of his dentae and under his tongue, Tailgate tested the flavor, all results coming back that yep, this was definitely different. There was a string of lubricant connecting the tip of Tailgate’s nose to Cyclonus’ valve and the little bot gigglesnorted.

The sudden flux of air must’ve startled Cyclonus; he jolted a little and picked up his helm from where it had fallen back when he’d stretched out.  Tailgate couldn’t tell if he could see but he pointed at the little silvery strand that connected them and giggled again.  Cyclonus shook his helm and rolled his eyes but, Primus, he was smiling too and it was so _cute_.

Satisfied, Tailgate dipped down again and wrapped his lips around Cyclonus’ external node. Suckling, slurping kisses and swirling strokes of tongue covered Cyclonus’ node one after the other and alternated back and forth, some gentle, some ravenous.  The jet stared up, wide-eyed, at the ceiling, absently thinking that Tailgate had found something he liked to play with.  And then Cyclonus moaned aloud, which is what he got for not focusing or preparing for Tailgate to utilize his newfound eagerness to push three of his fingers in as deep as they could go.  The minibot froze and withdrew from his relentless attentions.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked, mouth a pinkish mess of lubricant.  “I’m so sorry!”

“Didn’t hurt,” Cyclonus said, his fans whirring to life and that said enough to Tailgate to dispute his concerns.

“Oh, it was good,” he said, smiling.  “You’re wider than me. Didn’t think you would feel just one of my fingers.  I’m not sure if I…,” he pressed in, fingers crooking up; Cyclonus gasped, “...can reach that spot inside…. It felt so good; my hands are too small….”

Cyclonus pushed his hips downward, rolling them into Tailgate’s penetrating fingers as they stroked and prodded along the inner lining of his valve.  Done with his murmuring, the minibot had lowered his mouth once again and hovered his wet lips nearer to the source of that wetness, warmth and pleasure. Cyclonus’ valve was so lovely…. Tailgate wondered how long he could spend between his lover’s thighs, lavishing every quivering fold with kisses and licks, firm strokes and teases.  Sticky hands swept under Cyclonus’ hips and pushed up as hard as he could – Cyclonus lifted himself up when he realized what Tailgate was doing - and Tailgate plunged his tongue straight into Cyclonus’ drooling hole.

He really doubted that Cyclonus was capable of doing anything even remotely similar to whimpering, but when Tailgate heard that strange, staticky gasp lurch from Cyclonus’ vocalizer, the sound shot straight through him and revved his cooling fans into high gear.  His interface panel pinged him for permission to re-engage.

“Frag…,” Tailgate whispered against Cyclonus’ lips.  He was running hot all over.  They both were. Tailgate let his panel retract and nestled his fingers against his own valve, stroking in deliberate teases as he put the softest, most intimate kisses he could against Cyclonus’ external node.  “I got really wet,” he admitted, kissing the space between node and spike housing as he glanced up at Cyclonus.

“Turn your array towards me,” Cyclonus said.  He kept an even tone but the hard revving of his engines spoke of lusty aching coursing through his lines.  “I’ll return the favor.”

“Um, actually,” Tailgate said as he pushed himself up to his knees again, smearing the mess of lubricants and oral solvents off his mouth, “I wanna…. I wanna put my spike in you.”

It was almost as if Cyclonus had snatched Tailgate into his arms and dove straight into his spark.  But the jet was still as he had ever been this evening, focusing intently on the minibot he called his mate.  It was his field that had suddenly leapt out with unrestrained desire, embracing and twisting itself into the little bot’s own field, knotted up into it with such fierce affirmation.  Tailgate’s spike pressurized so quickly at that, he squeaked in surprise.

“Ah! A-ah, I can’t…promise that it’ll feel any good,” Tailgate mumbled, shuffling forward on his knees and grasping at Cyclonus’ hips.  “I can’t reach deep,” he said.  He pushed his pelvic armor forward until his spike met the molten wet heat of Cyclonus’ valve.  Tailgate moaned, his frame shivering hard.  “I...ah, I can’t stretch you out….”

“Stop,” Cyclonus said.  Tailgate stopped everything.  He looked up, optics full of startled fear and that sort of teetering hope that leans far too close to crushing disappointment.  Cyclonus shook his helm and reached with both hands to cradle the minibot’s face.  “Do not list out your perceived failings,” Cyclonus whispered, earnestly pressing his sincerity through their tangled fields.  Tailgate resonated back with unabashed trust and desire.  “We make love in berth, not excuses.”  He smirked.  “Now frag me like you want to.”

Tailgate couldn’t help his smile.  He bent forward and pressed kisses to Cyclonus’ abdominal plating, over and over again, like he was tracing glyphs with his lips. Cyclonus caught his hands and laced their fingers together, pushing his hips up just enough to make Tailgate really aware of how his spike was situated against Cyclonus’ valve.  They both let out a gasp for it.

One smooth push was all it took; Tailgate buried himself to the hilt in the dripping heat of Cyclonus’ valve. His optics closed, helm tilted back, spinal strut rigid with tense pleasure, Tailgate let the sensations consume him.  Each twitching squeeze of Cyclonus’ calipers had his processor reeling towards a sensory overload.  His spark throbbed, ecstatic vibrations reaching out to find Cyclonus and match up with him.

Tailgate pushed his hips forward, leaning back a little to bury his spike as deep as it could go.  A growl twisted into Cyclonus’ moaning and he pushed his own hips downward.

“You’re rubbing it,” he said to Tailgate.  “My ceiling node.”

“Oh...oh, really?” Tailgate asked breathlessly. He shifted back a little then pushed right back, angling his hips upwards.  “Like that?”

“Mmmmh….  Like that.”  Cyclonus circled his hips a little, mouth falling open as Tailgate began a steady and purposeful pace. The purple mech let out a trembling exhale, positioning himself up on his hands so Tailgate could get the best angle with his thrusts.  The little bot’s spike was just the right length and curvature to press into Cyclonus’ ceiling node and Cyclonus could feel the stimulation bursting from that one spot over and over.  It surged out through his sensory net but still managed to circulate in hot cycles right between his legs.  Like a convection of superheated plasma.  And it kept leaking out of Cyclonus’ valve with every insistent push, spurting from swollen lips.  Cyclonus’ arms trembled as he held himself up.  His processor felt like it was boiling in his helm.

“Cy...oh, Cyclonus, th-that’s…!” Tailgate whimpered as his pace increased.  “I h-haven’t done this before, I don’t think I can last...!”

Cyclonus answered by squeezing his calipers down tight around Tailgate’s spike with every thrust, adding that much more pressure and pleasure for both of them.  Tailgate cried out, holding Cyclonus’ hips in a grip that managed to put the tiniest dents in his plating. Their room was a calamity of roaring fans and revving engines, their raveled energies knotting even tighter and tighter together until there was no awareness beyond the places where their bodies seemed to melt together.  

Tailgate’s control snapped.

Vocalizer glitching out in a skreeping whine, his hips spasmed forward over and over in rapidfire as he overloaded.  Transfluid flooded Cyclonus’ valve and Tailgate wrapped his arms tight around his lover’s middle, practically screaming into his abdominal plating as the overload doubled up on itself, rebounding from the explosion of Tailgate’s energies from the tight coil it had built with Cyclonus.  Cyclonus who had shorted out his vocalizer entirely with the force of his overload, entire body as taught as a triple-braided bridge cable as he arched back.  His valve contracted and convulsed out of synch with Tailgate’s frantic humping, seizing tight for seconds at a time before fluttering wildly as if in a panic.

Sound returned.  Slowly at first, bringing with it the blasting strain of overclocked cooling fans and the soft whistle of an engine winding down.  Tailgate pushed himself up and pulled himself out and they both grunted and shivered and fell down into each other’s arms. Cyclonus wiped the coolant that leaked from his little lover’s optics.  Tailgate burrowed as deep as he could into Cyclonus’ embrace, nestling his spark, his field, as close as it could be to Cyclonus’ chestplates.  Cyclonus closed his interface panel, valve still soaked with transfluid.  His thighs were sticky with it. They matched now.

“Could you tell how much I love you?” Tailgate whispered at his side.  Cyclonus looked down and caught the kiss aiming for his mouth, tasting tears and condensation and cum.

“I’m quite certain the whole ship could,” Cyclonus murmured back against those sweet lips.  Tailgate giggled. Cyclonus smiled.

 


End file.
